


The Soldier and the Little Bird

by AprilKathryn



Category: Knives Out (2019), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Wanda Maximoff, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Omega Reader, POV Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stalker Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29835741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AprilKathryn/pseuds/AprilKathryn
Summary: The reader is an Omega, a rare thing in the modern world, living as a Beta. After catching Bucky's eye during a mission, he becomes obsessed with knowing you and becoming part of your life. With a pseudo-relationship standing in his way, and your life spiraling out of your control, how far will Bucky go to do what he thinks is right for you?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Ransom Drysdale/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	1. Ch. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Go on and jump over to my Pinterest board for this fic if you're feelin' froggy: https://www.pinterest.com/aprilksugar/abo-fic/  
> First time writing A/B/O so please be gentle and constructive with me.

Bucky never meant to watch you like this. When Doc Samson suggested hobbies, Bucky knows he didn’t mean this. Bucky had been drifting in the months since Steve left, mindlessly accepting mission after mission in an attempt to fill his time with literally anything but space to think about his grief. Was it grief? The good doctor thought so, gifting a simple leather journal to Bucky during one of their first sessions.

“For thoughts and the like, or whatever you want to put in it.”

He’d kept a journal before when he’d been on the run following the fall of the Triskelion. He’d frantically scribbled into the notebooks any fragmented memory he was able to hold onto for more than a split second. Many of them were of Steve, before the war, his scrawny frame shivering from chills under a thin blanket, or him grinning up at Bucky all lop-sided while blood streamed from his nose. Stupidly stubborn and brave, even before the serum, Bucky came to know Steve all over again in those months. Bucky learned to understand his protective instincts over the man, his desperate need to keep the self-sacrificing dumbass breathing, despite Steve’s desire to perform increasingly reckless feats of strength. Doc Samson had tried to talk Bucky through the emotions, but he’d been shut down at every turn. So, the journal came into play. At first, Bucky did try to write down his thoughts and the like, but it didn’t last long, as he met you barely a week later.

A home mission, some jackass with an agenda in the lobby of the Tower with something to prove. He and Sam were clearing the third floor when they heard the whimpering in the office ahead. You were cowering behind a printer, shaking so terribly it rattled the open paper tray next to you, a hand clamped over your mouth in an attempt to keep yourself quiet. Bucky had stood watch at the door while Sam tried to calm you down.

“Th-the daycare. He was-He went to the day-the day-the kids, he’ll-”

You’d dissolved into silent tears, rocking slightly on the floor. Sam got the gist, knowing there was a worker's daycare off the main lobby. As Bucky scanned the hall, he could smell the fear rolling off you, the scent making something in his chest stir. Underneath the acidic panic, something softer caught his attention, something sweet. Bucky glanced into the room at you, taking a moment to really take in your features. You were small, probably a head shorter than Bucky, wearing an emerald [dress ](https://www.showpo.com/us/are-you-gonna-kiss-me-dress-in-emerald.html)with a high neck. Nude tights and flats covered your legs and feet, the look topped off with an antique-looking bee pin in your hair.

You were attractive, no denying it, and as Sam calmed you, Bucky found your scent more and more intoxicating. He was staring now, outright, the noise coming down the hall lost on him. Too focused on you to be keeping watch, he barely hears the gunfire and only realizes it’s aimed at him when the bullet grazes his arm with a loud _ping_! You scream, covering your ears and curling into a ball against the printer. Sam is more responsive, landing a couple of punches to the goon before knocking his head against the wall enough times to knock him out. Bucky is useless, rushing to your side. He scoops you into his arms, mumbling anything he can think of to reassure you, watching mascara and eyeliner mix into streaks of grey on your face. When Sam calls the all-clear, Bucky is still too focused on you to notice.

“Barnes!”

“What?!”

Bucky all but snarls at his partner, glaring up at the Captain. 

“Jesus Christ, man, we have a hostage situation with kids. I need you to focus!”

“I _am_ focused! Rendezvous at the south stairs in five.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but leaves, giving Bucky the chance to look back at you. Slowly, you lower your hands from your ears and sniffle, looking up at Bucky with wide eyes.

“Are you alright?”

Your question surprises him, and he can only nod in response, reaching out to wipe your cheek with his thumb.

“It’s safe now?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You crack a slight smile and laugh nervously

“That’s not a yes, Sergeant Barnes.”

 _Sergeant Barnes._ Bucky’s not sure he’ll ever get used to people calling him by his rank. The title doesn’t feel like him. He’s just Bucky. He leads you to the emergency exit, arm wrapped around your shoulders in an effort to comfort you. He doesn’t want to let go of you when he reaches the stairs.

“They’ve gathered everyone in the alley outside, you-you’ll be safe out there.”

You smile up at him.

“Thank you, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“You can call me Bucky.”

He lets his arm linger as you walk away, glancing up at him before you turn the corner and head out into the alley. It’s easy enough to secure the daycare, the kids unaware of the danger they’d been in just moments before as Sam entertains them until their parents arrive. Bucky leans against the wall, the kids shooting him nervous glances. He’d never been good with young kids, other than Rebekah, but especially now with his arm glinting under the fluorescents, Bucky knows he looks menacing. It doesn’t matter, because all Bucky can think about is you, in your emerald dress, with your big doe eyes, and your scent. God, your scent. Soft, like your voice, sweet like your smile, with a tart and fruity note. There’s something floral there too, earthy, but Bucky couldn’t identify it unless it hit him in the face. Once the kids are reunited with their families and the reporters have taken their photos, asked their questions, Bucky finds himself wandering out onto the plaza. He notices you on a bench, looking at the street in front of you, wiping your eyes furiously. He’s about to call when you stand suddenly, running to a man climbing out of a town car.

“Ransom!”

You throw yourself into the man’s arms, who immediately embraces you, a hand pressing your face into his chest. The man, Ransom, pulls back ad examines you, using a large hand to turn your face from side to side. He pulls you to him again, face half-hidden by your hair, and his eyes meet Bucky’s across the plaza. Something akin to a smirk flashes across this Ransom’s face before he leads you to the car. You glance over your shoulder at the Tower, eyes falling to Bucky before you climb in. you lift your hand in a small wave before Ransom ushers you into the backseat. He looks at Bucky again, lifting his chin slightly. Whatever had stirred in Bucky’s chest at your scent now bares its teeth, growling a bit. It’s possessiveness, which Bucky knows he has no right to, but it’s settled in, nonetheless.

Following a debriefing, Bucky heads to his mandatory post-mission therapy session, where the good Doc lifts an eyebrow at Bucky’s mention of you.

“She was so…and-and all I wanted was to protect her. I couldn’t focus on anything else.”

“You’re an Alpha, correct?”

Bucky nods, still too lost in his thoughts of you to bother with his denomination’s relevance.

“When was your last rut?”

Bucky sputters a bit at this.

“Doc, I-“

“You don’t have to answer, but I think, considering how strongly this woman’s scent affected you, it would be a good idea to keep track of such things. In your journal, perhaps?”

So, Bucky kept track of things. Doctor’s orders. He tracks down your name, the address listed in your personnel file, and the work schedule in the Tower system. You work in reception, in the event planning office, for the Stark Memorial Charity. You live out by Prospect Park, no less than three blocks from Rebekah’s home. It takes thirty-nine minutes exactly, if there are no delays, for you to get from your brownstone to the Tower.

The Q train, to the 4 train, to Grand Central, and a seven-minute walk to the Tower. It’s fifty minutes if you have to take the 7 train instead of the 4.

You always give yourself an hour to get to work, leaving the [brownstone ](https://www.pinterest.com/aprilksugar/abo-fic/the-brownstone/)with a travel mug of peach tea, when it’s cold, or fruit juice, when it’s warm, and a half-eaten breakfast dangling from your mouth. You have a cat, a white fluffball named Alpine. He curls up beside your head at night, a small pillow in the upper right corner of your bed designated just for him.

Bucky tracks everything: what you eat, what you wear, your schedule on your days off. He knows you go to the farmer’s market in the park every Thursday, if it’s warm enough to be open, always picking up a bouquet of flowers for yourself. Violets, if they have them. It’s the floral note in your scent and Bucky finds himself keeping a small glass of them in his quarters at the Tower.

“Never pegged you for a flowers kind of guy,” Sam teases, stopping by after a mission briefing before the pair of them head to the hangar.

“I’m not.”

“Then why-“

“Maybe you should mind your business, Wilson.”

Sam drops it, but any chance he gets on the mission, he presents Bucky with a flower in the most dramatic fashion he’s able to muster.

“Cut that shit out, will you?” Bucky grumbles, smashing the dandelion under his foot with a grunt. Sam just howls with laughter, Wanda throwing them an amused look.

“There is nothing wrong with enjoying flowers, James.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. _Great_ , now she’s in on it too.

“It’s the smell. I like the smell,” Bucky mumbles, looking through the binoculars as their target buys a newspaper at a store across the street.

“All flowers?”

Wanda smiles at him and Bucky feels a flush creep up his neck.

“He’s had a cup full of violets in his kitchen for weeks.”

Sam comes up behind Bucky, glancing through the blinds onto the street below. Wanda’s smile widens and a soft flash of red has Bucky seeing you on the street below instead of the target.

“ _Who_ is _that_?”

Bucky scowls as Sam’s eyes widen, the target reappearing while Bucky shoots a glare at Wanda.

“Get outta my head, Witch,” he snarls, puffing his chest a bit. The woman smirks, but bows her head as a sign of surrender, going back to the book in her lap.

“You gonna tell us who Wanda put out there?”

“I thought I told you to mind your damn business. C’mon, he’s on the move.”

Bucky stalks out of the motel room without another word, his colleagues throwing a mischievous glance at each other. They drop it until the three of them are headed back in the jet, Sam raising an eyebrow at Bucky when the man takes a stone he stole from the jar by your front door out of his pocket.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Prospect Park.”

“What’s in Prospect Park?”

“Well, it’s a park, Wilson. Ya know, playgrounds and sidewalks—"

“Maybe you should be asking who is in Prospect Park, Sam.”

Wanda’s voice is soft, laced with a sense of knowing, and Bucky glowers at her as he shoves the rock back in his pocket.

“I told you to get outta my head.”

“I don’t need to be in your head to know you’ve been spending a lot of time in Brooklyn the past few weeks, and not visiting your sister’s family.”

“How do you know I’m not spending time with Rebekah?”

“You just told me.”

Bucky crosses his arm, making a disgruntled noise as Sam laughs.

“Oh, she got you good, rust bucket.”

“I told you not to call me that, bird brain.”

“ _Boys_.”

The moment he returns to the Tower, the only thing on his mind is riding his bike out to his nest in the abandoned apartment building across from your brownstone. According to his camera feeds, Ransom is visiting, and though the thought of what he’s doing makes Bucky’s stomach recoil, it’s better than listening to Sam and Wanda’s questions. He makes an appointment to see the good Doc in the morning and heads to the garage. Bucky stops short as he approaches his bike, Wanda’s intense look as she leans against the wall rooting him to the spot.

“This isn’t healthy, James.”

“You’re one to lecture about healthy and unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

“I was grieving and have since worked through that grief.”

“The Doc says I’m grieving. I think I’m allowed a little leeway here.”

Wanda sighs but gestures to the bike.

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you if things don’t go the way you want.”


	2. Ch. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for the end: Rape/Dubcon, degrading language, and all-around asshole Ransom

It doesn’t go the way Bucky wants. Not with Ransom dropping in once every few weeks to bother you. Now, realistically, Bucky knows Ransom is there because you invited him because the two of you have something going on. Not a relationship, because Ransom is purposefully single, according to every trash gossip magazine that interviews him. After all, one of the most eligible bachelors in the country can’t be seen visiting just anyone, particularly some nobody in Prospect Park.

But he visits, stays a couple of days, and leaves you again. There’s usually a bouquet of some kind on your doorstep the next day, never violets, but something pretty with just enough pink or red in it to give off an air of romance. Bucky grimaces every time the delivery van pulls up. The second time he speaks to you, Ransom’s car hasn't been off your street five minutes before you stagger out. It’s late, too late for you to be awake in Bucky’s opinion because he knows you have work tomorrow. He wrote it down, so he knew when to wander into your office. You’ve got an overly large hoodie on, Queen in the North screaming across the front in a royal-looking font. You sit on the concrete steps leading up to your home, putting your head on your knees for a moment and sighing deeply. Bucky doesn’t need to see your face to know there are bags under your eyes. You’d called into work to spend the day with Ransom, but it didn’t seem to do you any good, considering how wrecked your demeanor appeared. It’d been snowing that afternoon and Bucky’s boots crunch on the sidewalk. You start a bit, looking up in alarm, expression changing to surprise at Bucky’s sudden apparition in front of you.

“Sergeant Barnes? Is that you?”

Bucky knows he shouldn’t be this close, not with you so vulnerable. Your scent beckons him closer until he’s standing at the bottom step, looking down at you.

“Hi.”

“It’s late. What, uh, what are you doing in Brooklyn?”

“My sister lives a couple blocks down.”

“You’re walking to your sister’s at 2 a.m.?”

Suspicion laces your words.

“I’m staying there tonight, couldn’t sleep, so I-I took a walk to clear my head. Doc Samson says it can help to move while thinking about…well, just to keep moving around.”

It’s not entirely a lie, but the half-truth feels dirty on his tongue. You seem too tired to argue his excuse, nodding along with drooping eyes.

“You should probably be asleep too, yeah?”

You laugh softly, bitterly, and sniff a little. Bucky’s not sure if it’s from the cold or some more emotional reason.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Um, I don’t mean to bother you or-or pry, but are you alright?”

When you look up at him, the streetlamp catches the tears trying to fall from your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I just…life, sometimes, is—it’s just difficult.”

You reach into your hoodie pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes. You light one and take a long drag.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.”

Bucky furrows his brow a bit, making a note to write that in his journal. You hold one out to him.

“Sometimes, a person just needs a bad thing to help make the worse things feel better.”

You’re not making a whole lot of sense, and Bucky figures it’s from the lack of sleep. He leans against the banister of your steps, the pair of your finishing your cigarettes in silence. You crush the butt into the snow and offer Bucky a gentle smile. He can see you shivering a bit, rubbing your bare legs to brace the cold.

“I should go inside, try to get some shut-eye.”

Bucky just nods, putting out his cigarette under the heel of his boot. As you head back of the steps, the back of the hoodie catches a bit on your hips, revealing the backs of your thighs. Bucky thinks he’s going to pass out. He needs a cold shower. No girl’s thighs should be making him feel all hot under the collar this way, no matter what their scent does to him.

“Good night, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky.”

“Right, _Bucky_.”

The way his name sounds in your mouth makes Bucky think he could float to Rebekah’s, hell, to the Tower. As soon as he’s back to his nest in the apartment building, he sets to sorting out what “queen in the north” meant.

***

A week later, Bucky’s finished binging Game of Thrones and he’s ready to face you again. He rarely goes directly into your office, always making a pass outside in the hall and peeking in. Not today, though, because he and the Doc had talked about comfort zones.

“Try to find little ways to get out of your comfort zones. Order something different at a coffee shop, maybe spend time at one of the team activities, something that feels right.”

So, he strides directly into the office, to your desk, and waits for you to notice him.

“Ms. Potts is in a meeting at the moment, but if you-oh! Sergeant Barnes, what a surprise.”

You smile at him, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. According to the messages on your Instagram, Ransom is due back in town at the end of the week.

Just for the night. Be ready for me.

“I just wanted to stop by and check-in with you.”

“Me?”

Your voice takes on a softer tone.

“Just wanted to check in, is all, make sure you’re getting that sleep you were missing out on.”

Bucky looks down at you as gently as he can muster, wanting you to understand his meaning, wanting you to admit you weren’t doing alright. Wanting you to ask him for help.

“Oh, right, I-I’m doing better. Thanks. You didn’t have to come all the way down here just to check in on little, ol’ me, though.”

It breaks Bucky’s heart to see you think so little of yourself.

“I’d come down here every day if it meant I got to see your sweet smile, _malen'kiy vorobey_.”

Bucky feels the embarrassed heat radiating off you and grins.

“Is that Russian?”

He nods, popping a couple of candies from the bowl on your desk into his mouth.

“What does it mean?”

“Literally? Little sparrow, but I figure it’s a good substitute for little bird, don’t you, Ms. Queen in the North?”

You’re blushing aggressively now, and Bucky sees you squirm a bit in your chair.

“Is that my new nickname?”

“If it’s alright with you.”

You nod, straightening a stack of papers to avoid looking directly at Bucky.

“It’s okay with me. It’s-It sounds pretty.”

“To match your pretty face.”

“ _Sergeant Barnes_.”

Bucky chuckles softly.

“How many times am I going to have to tell you to call me Bucky?”

You bite your lip and give a shy smile.

“At least once more, Sergeant Barnes.”

It’s a movie line, one Bucky can’t place, but he knows he’s heard it. He’ll have to look it up later. He leaves you like this, your coworkers giggling behind their hands at the attention you’ve received and pestering you with questions. Bucky thinks his heart is going to break out of his chest. He knows he hasn’t flirted that much since before the war, probably with the girl he’d been courting. Debbie or Dory or…Dot. Yeah, Dot.

You blew Dot out of the water, though, and Bucky doesn’t know how the entire office isn’t constantly fawning over you and your scent. He stood close to you long enough for it to linger on him. The elevator ride back to his quarters is spent daydreaming about what it would be like to scent you, and have you scent him in return, leading to that cold shower he’d needed after the interaction on your steps.

Bucky keeps his distance for a while, nodding to you in the mornings when you come through the lobby for work. He makes a point to be out in the plaza as you walk in. You’re usually carrying a tray of coffee for the office, but on Fridays, you bring in some sort of baked good for the weekly potluck lunch, something you’d helped organize. A few weeks after your christening as his little bird, Bucky pokes his head in again. It’s nearly lunch hour and you’re in the office kitchen, setting brownies in a pile on a plate.

“You make those yourself?”

You jump, dropping one of the treats back into the pan.

“Sergeant Barnes! You scared me. Yes, I did. Would, um, would you like one?”

One of your feet turns in towards the other slightly as you ask. Bucky could die from the overload of scent rolling off you. Still, he wills himself to get closer, taking a bite of the brownie you’d picked up to offer him. You step back slightly into the counter, chest rising rapidly with shallow breaths.

“Delicious, of course. I expected no less from you, malen'kiy vorobey. What’s your secret?”

You’re trying to avoid eye contact with him, but it’s next to impossible as Bucky takes another nibble.

“It’s just a box mix. I add chocolate chips and a little extra cocoa is all.”

You’re sheepish, Bucky’s praise only increasing the amount of scent you’re putting out. Bucky’s sure he’s giving off the same level and he wonders if his scent is what’s affecting you.

“Princess?”

A male voice from behind the two of you brings the moment to a screeching halt. Bucky knows that voice, and so do you, and you set the half-eaten brownie aside to launch into Ransom’s arms. The man is glaring at Bucky over your head.

“Ransom! What are you doing here?”

“I got into town a little early, thought I’d surprise you, baby. Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, Ran, this is, um, this is Sergeant Barnes. He’s-“

“Yeah, I know who he is, baby. Why don’t you put together a plate for me and we can go eat out in the plaza? I think I’d like to get to know your _friend_ , Sergeant Barnes, a little better.”

You wince when Ransom’s grip on your arm tightens, steering you back to the counter. You leave with two full plates, throwing a look over your shoulder at the two men as they size each other up.

“So, you’re an Avenger, then?”

“I work with the team.”

“Yeah, hard to excuse the war crimes to give you a set of spandex, huh?”

Bucky feels his jaw clench.

“Seemed alright to clear your assault charges in Massachusetts to keep you in the family business, don’t see how that’s any different.”

“The accusations were recanted.”

“Hush moneyed away, you mean.”

“You got some nerve talking to me like that, Sergeant. Or is it Soldier? These aliases get so confusing. But, not Captain, right? Saw the news about the mantle being handed off to someone else.”

“He deserves it more than anyone else.”

“Especially you, hm?”

Bucky grits his teeth.

“She’s a great lay, you know. Well, you wouldn’t know, but I can tell you’d like to, ‘ey, _Sarge_?”

The man laughs, a cruel sound, and sneers at Bucky.

“I’ve got her trained pretty well, don’t you think? Takes a lot of patience, a lot of _discipline_ , know what I mean?”

Bucky can’t help the growl that bubbles up from his chest.

“That a confession?”

“I’ve never done anything she hasn’t _begged_ for, believe me.”

Bucky all out snarls and his fist clenches, the metal whirring a bit. Ransom chuckles and leaves Bucky fuming, tossing an insincere farewell over his shoulder.

“See you around, Barnes.”

You request to leave early, and your saint of an office manager complies, smiling at the sight of you on Ransom’s arm. The moment you leave the Tower, Bucky’s heading down to the garage and climbing on his bike. He weaves through traffic, speeding like a bat out of hell, but he still doesn’t reach his lookout in time. He braces himself as he pulls up the camera feeds, flinching at the sight of you. Your dress, a soft-looking mustard yellow thing, is ripped around the collar, your tights a shredded mess on the den floor and Ransom has you kneeling on raw rice. Your hands are shaking with effort as you clutch a tray with a bottle of bourbon and a glass on it.

“Princess, look at me.”

The rest of you has begun to tremble.

“I want you to stay there until I’ve finished my drink. While I do that, I want you to think about what it is you’ve done wrong, how you’ve done _me_ wrong, do I make myself clear?”

Your voice shakes like the tray when you speak, still soft and gentle as ever.

“Yes, Alpha.”

Bucky’s eyes widen at your words. Of course, Ransom was an Alpha, Bucky could tell that, but _your_ Alpha? There was no way, not with the inconsistencies in his visits. Were you nothing more than something to rut into for this jackass? And if you were, did you really expect Ransom to mate you? Had he mated you already? No, your scent was too strong, too free of the man’s stink, to be a mated scent. Bucky shakes with rage as Ransom reclines into one of the den chairs, watching you as he sips his bourbon. You keep your eyes open, tears falling silently as the rice digs in and your arms shake in pain. What Bucky would give to run in and deck this…this worthless excuse for an Alpha. All Ransom cared about was the power over you, not the care he was entrusted with as a potential mate or the responsibility for your wellbeing. After twenty minutes of nursing the last sip of the drink, Ransom finally stands, taking the tray from you and hoisting you to your feet.

“You’ll take everything I give you tonight, you understand?”

You nod.

“I don’t want to hear any of your safe word bullshit, got it?”

You nod again, biting your lip. Bucky continues to fume, unable to watch as Ransom drags you up the stairs and to your room. The feed audio still plays, your cries of pain enough to make Bucky’s stomach churn. He knows to mute the feed is to deny what’s happening to you, and if he can’t watch then he should listen, or vice versa. So, he switches back and forth, consuming one until he can’t stand it and changes over to the other.

“Letting another Alpha get close enough to leave his scent, getting all slicked up for him, like some sort of two-cent slut. You wanna act like a whore, fine with me, princess. I’ll treat you like one.”

Ransom’s grunts aren’t enough to drown out your wails as he holds you still. At some point, he’s fed up with your squirming and brings his belt out to bind your wrists to your bed frame. Bucky knows you’ll have bruises in the morning, maybe sooner, and he’d give anything to help soothe them. Instead, he watches as you do as Ransom instructed, taking whatever the man gives, and suppressing any protest you might have.

By the time morning comes, you’re asleep or passed out, Bucky’s not sure which. Ransom dressed and left hours ago, unbinding your wrists just enough for you to get out on your own. The prick has the audacity to kiss the top of your head before he goes, pressing his lips to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Bucky can see your unmarred scent gland in the faint morning light as you stir slightly, turning towards the window. He finds himself breathing a sigh of relief.

Unmated.

 _For now_.


	3. Ch. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Ransom being an asshole. Mentions of his abuse and reader's trauma.

Things continue to not go how Bucky wants. Why would they? You continue to see Ransom, continue to withstand his abuse, and Bucky’s anger only grows. The threat of Ransom’s reaction to his scent is enough to make you withdraw. Where smiles and conversations had been now only curt nods and the occasional wave resides. Bucky does what he can, trying to bump into you a bit more outside the Tower, but Ransom seems to be with you all the time now. He even goes with you to the farmer’s market, scoffing at you when you pick up your violets. He leans into your ear, and Bucky watches as your smile wavers, setting the bouquet back down. You leave without them, staring at the ground as you walk to Ransom’s town car. Bucky can’t help himself. He buys all the violets the vendor has, waiting for Ransom to leave you at your brownstone before laying them outside your door. He knocks and dashes, watching from the alley across the street as you kneel to tenderly collect the bouquets. You cover your mouth, but Bucky still hears the sob that rises from your chest.

His poor sweet girl overcome with the simple thought of being allowed her flowers. He sees you look up, scanning the street before it lands on the alley he hides in. You look out as if you can see him in the shadows. You don’t say a word, don’t change your expression, just stare for a moment before going inside. When Ransom returns in the evening, Bucky watches through his camera as the man demands to know why you went back to the market.

“I didn’t.”

“Then where did all these fucking flowers come from?”

“They were a _gift_ ,” you say coolly, turning to look up at him. It’s a challenge and Bucky has to admire your refusal to give up your will in the face of Ransom’s violence.

“Watch yourself, little girl.”

“Or what? What could you possibly do to me you haven’t already?”

Another challenge. Ransom growls deep in his chest.

“Might I remind you of the privileged status you have right now because of me?”

“Being a Beta isn’t a privilege, shouldn’t you of all people know that by now?”

“It is for you, or should I remind you of what it’s like without your little pills?”

You turn away from him and squeeze your eyes shut.

 _Pills?  
_ “You can’t hold that over me forever.”

“I can so long as you refuse to give in to your nature.”

You choke out a bitter laugh.

“ _You’re_ going to lecture _me_ about giving into nature?”

“Watch yourself.”

There’s silence for a beat. Bucky watches you as you move to stand behind Ransom, wrapping your arms around to hold his chest.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—I know it’s a painful thing for you and I shouldn’t throw it in your face like that.”

Ransom offers a grunt in response.

“They’re just flowers, Ran. I can-“

“They’re not just flowers.”

“He didn’t-“

“He’s got no respect for my claim on you.”

“We’re not mates, Ransom.”

He turns on you then, baring his teeth.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

His voice is low, deadly, and he grips your hips as he lifts you onto the counter, knocking over one of the flower vases in the process.

“You belong to _me_. Not some Avenger asshole.”

Ransom rucks up your sundress and you squirm as he cages you against the cabinets. Bucky’s blood boils at your rough handling. You still have bruises from his last visit and yet here he is about to leave more. Ransom’s hand disappears under the hem of your dress and you yelp at his intrusion.

“Ransom, please, you’re hurting me.”

The man grunts in response, pulling his hand back only for it to disappear again. You wince and push on his shoulders in an effort to escape.

“I claim you; I mark you, and you are mine. Do you hear me?”

“That’s not funny, you can’t-“

“Like hell, I can’t.”

Ransom noses at the junction of your neck and shoulder. Bucky stops breathing, knowing your mating gland lays there.

“Ransom, you’re not thinking clearly. Please, don’t do this to me.”

“To you? What makes you think I care what you want? You belong to me. I say what matters to you, what happens to you, and I say this is what you need.”

“You can’t!”

It’s a desperate wail, a plea, and it jerks Bucky’s heart around his chest. He’s watching in horror, unable to look away as Ransom’s mouth opens.

“Ransom! Please!”

The man pulls back and relief floods Bucky’s body. Ransom steps back from the counter and you scramble down, hugging yourself as you back away from him.

“Never do that again.”

“We’ll see.”

“No, Ransom, you can’t. Mating is about love and-and for me, it’s—you can’t do that to me. You don’t love me.”

“You belong to me.”

“I can’t mate a Beta, you know that.”

“I’m not-“

“Stop it. Cards on the table, now. You cannot mate me. We can’t conceive together and if I have a mate, my body craves conception.”

“You wouldn’t know the difference in a heat.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I haven’t had a heat in a while, isn’t it?”

Bucky thinks he’s going to pass out as he leans back in his chair. It’s too much to process. He needs to tell someone. Needs to talk to someone. Anyone.

Thirty minutes later, Wanda arrives at the apartment, arms crossed when he opens the door.

“Alright, I’m here, James. Where is she?”

“Across the street, the brownstone with 331 on the door.”

“Oh, so you haven’t kidnapped her, yet?”

“I’m not going to-“

“Right, sure.”

Wanda looks through the scope at the house.

“No, over here.”

Bucky shows her the laptop screen as it flickers through his camera feeds.

“Cameras? God, you’re-“

“I know, I know, but watch this.”

Bucky replays the conversation and subsequent assault. Wanda flinches when she sees Ransom invade your dress.

“Does he do things like that often?”

“As often as he can.”

“And you haven’t stopped this?”

Bucky looks everywhere but Wanda’s incredulous eyes, which flash dangerously red.

“James.”

“I haven’t found the right time to-“

“She’s being abused!”

“I know!”

He sinks to the floor, leaning his back against the kitchen counter.

“I know and it’s killing me, Wanda. I don’t know how to stop it without her getting hurt more. I can’t just storm over there and kill him. I want to, I’d give anything.”

He buries his head in his hands and tries to swallow the lump in his throat.

“What can I do?”

“What?”

Bucky wipes his nose and looks up at Wanda with red eyes. She repeats her question.

“Um, I’m not sure. I don’t know enough about-“

“Okay, then we find out. You dig up what you. I’ll try to make contact with them both and let you know what I find out.”

“Make contact?”

She waves her fingers slightly, spandrils of red magic glimmering at him.

“I don’t want to violate her privacy.”

Wanda snorts and raises her eye at the camera feeds on the laptop.

“You know what I mean. I don’t know her story and it feels wrong for you to take it out of her.”

“We’re beyond what is right or wrong at this point. Ethics left when you started following her around like a lost dog.”

The dig isn’t lost on Bucky, but he figures it’s deserved.

***

It takes a week for Wanda to bring back her information. She’d dropped by the office, feigning interest in a fundraiser at an arts center as a way to get to you. It only takes a brush of her hand to get your memories. Wanda can’t help but recoil at the flood of emotions suddenly assaulting her system. She recovers in enough time you don’t notice her lapse in focus. She nods along as you outline the silent auction of the center’s works and the designating of funds. Wanda smiles when you finish your walkthrough and tells you she’s interested in making an appearance with Vision. You beam at her and stammer out a thank you.

Ransom proves more difficult. Ever on his guard, it takes Wanda almost the entire week to get close to him. He’s getting some clothes fitted when Wanda slips behind him, lifting his ridiculous scarf onto a shelf as she passes. It’s enough to make him trip a bit as it catches. Wanda steps in, grasping his shoulders and lowering her hands to his as he rises back to full height. She’s struck by the amount of arrogance he uses to hide his crippling self-esteem problems underneath.

“Excuse me.”

Wanda mumbles, breezing past him and out the shop door. She has to stop to collect herself a bit before heading back to the Tower. Ransom’s painful memories swirl around her head and she searches for Bucky, eventually finding him in the garage. He’s clanking a wrench around one of the bikes he’s repairing, stopping short when he spots Wanda coming out of the elevator.

“I have information for you.”

“Oh?”

“We should go somewhere, sit and discuss. It’s going to take some time.”

Bucky wipes the grease on his hands onto his jeans and follows Wanda back into the elevator. They settle in a conference room, Bucky pulling out his journal of you.

“Who do you want to start with?”

“Her. Please.”

Wanda reaches out for him and takes a deep breath before relaying your story. An orphan, your had parents “worked for the government,” though you never knew what job. Wanda pulls up their personnel files in the SHIELD database and Bucky's breath catches in his throat. Both files read “Died in the line of duty during the Battle of the Triskelion, Washington D.C., 2014.”

“Do you remember much from that day?”

Wanda’s words spook Bucky out of his wallowing. If he’s honest, he can remember more than he wants to admit. He knows he’d fought Steve and fallen from the Helicarrier. He’d watched the carrier fall into the river, glancing back at Steve to make sure he was still breathing. Steve had coughed up water and rolled onto his side, groaning. A helicopter had been scanning the riverbed, and Bucky had watched from the tree line as Sam and Natasha recovered Steve. The Triskelion had collapsed throwing rubble into the river as the carrier fell on it, Bucky remembering how he’d felt guilt rack his chest, though he couldn’t place why he felt it at the time.

“Not much.”

“I know you’re lying.”

“Please, just, keep going.”

She sighs but picks up at the family’s funeral. You’d walked away from your mother’s Jewish roots, turning to more pagan-like worship of nature and devotion to the Greek goddess Artemis. You still lit the candles in your window on Friday nights and wouldn’t cook on the Sabbath, but beyond that, you didn’t practice any Judaism. You’d lived with your grandmother in the brownstone until she’d died your senior year of high school. It was shortly before your first heat happened. You’d been alone, in agony, and had sworn never to feel it again. You sought suppressants, illegal across the country, and that had led you to Ransom. He’d met you shortly after he began to present as a Beta, much to his family’s disappointment. They’d outcasted him, having raised him to believe Alphas were the superior disposition. They believed everyone should be an Alpha, and the weakest of the denominations, Omegas, should be bred out. So, when he crossed paths with you, he took the opportunity to hold his status over you. It would be easy for him to obtain suppressants, as the upper crust of society had more access to the under channels of suppressant and supplement dealers. That had been three years ago. Ransom hadn’t demanded his personal brand of payment until a year and a half ago, previously offering you the occasional lunch date or gift along with your suppressants. He’d been nearly kind, or at least kind for Ransom.

Then you’d found a potential mate. An Alpha you worked with at a used bookstore. Ransom had driven him off, beefing up on supplements to make his appearance as an Alpha more believable. Ransom had threatened to kill your lover, taking you for himself shortly after. You didn’t know about what Ransom had done, just knew the man had run off and left you heartbroken. Ransom had stepped in, picked up the pieces, and attempted to rebuild you in the image of his perfect omega. It had almost worked, but you’d gotten your new job at the Tower and branched out to socialize with the Betas of the office. You adapted to them, learning how to be properly independent, just slipping out of Ransom’s total control.

When Wanda finishes, Bucky rests his palms against his forehead. Even before he’d met you, he’d caused you suffering. Realistically, Bucky knows he didn’t have a personal hand in your parents’ deaths, but he knows Hydra was responsible. He was part of Hydra and blame by proxy meant he had a hand in your parents’ deaths. Did you know? Had you forgiven him anyway? His heart aches at the thought.

“We need to get her away from him.”

Bucky looks up at Wanda. She’s looking at the personnel files absentmindedly.

“I don’t know how.”

“Tell her what you know. Confess what you’ve seen.”

“She’d never forgive me.”

“Doesn’t matter. You can help her whether she forgives you or not.”

“Wanda-“

“No, James. Enough is enough. You can’t stand by any longer. If I had known the extent of what this girl was being put through…”

She trails off, flashing a bit of her magic in her palm. A miniature you appears on the table in front of Bucky. Curled into a ball, rocking slightly, you stare up at the pair of them.

“Stop.”

“Look at her. We can’t-You can’t leave her with him.”

The image contorts to you being swept up by a miniature Ransom, who shakes you as you cry silently.

“Enough, Wanda.”

Bucky sweeps his hand through the image. It turns to red dust, shimmering across his palm.

“We’ll go tonight.”


End file.
